It strikes me that PhDs with non-academic careers are a bit like fallen angels.
For a moment they had their wings and their wine and cheese parties and conferences and places at the start of the tenure track and names on publications and the fulfillment of mentoring young people.
But then—all was lost, and now they are figures of lost, mostly forgotten glory, toiling away in mercenary darkness.
Oh, the self-indulgent drama.
§ As you get older, the ghosts become more real than anything else.
§ Under the leaves, soil. Under the soil, stone. Under the stone, souls.
§ Radically empowering individuals in society may be the worst mistake we ever made.
§ Want to be a radical? Refuse to suffer. Then, wait for the assault.
§ Goodbye 2017, part two. (The real part.)
§ Sometimes you find home where you’ve never been—and you dwell where you aren’t.
§ The self can’t play Atlas for postmodernity because science is now supernatural.
§ Rehab is universal. So is history.
§ Identity, transcendence, and tactics.
§ Untitled. (a.k.a. Pretty faces, new old photos.)